Sinking in my sea
by forthegenuine
Summary: Theon thought he was for death. And though the last image he would remember was the frozen world tilted on its axis as he lay on his side with his own spear in his abdomen, his last vision was of Sansa Stark's blue ocean eyes. He sank into them. Theonsa. Theon lives in Season 8.


i.

Theon thought he was for death.

And though the last image he would remember was the frozen world tilted on its axis as he lay on his side with his own spear in his abdomen, his last vision was of Sansa Stark's blue ocean eyes.

He sank into them.

_sstgsstgsstgsstgsstgsstgsstgsstgsstg_

Sansa and Tyrion were the last of the living to leave the crypts. They executed their duties as Lady of Winterfell and Hand of the Queen to see the others out safely. She longed to breathe air that wasn't tainted with death and decay, but a part of her also feared what should find once she resurfaced. A small part of her corrected, rather, whom she _wouldn't_ find.

Her mind was on her family. A voice inside her head chanted their names again and again, offering them up as prayers to the old gods that they would allow her to see them once more.

_Arya, Jon, Bran. Arya, Jon, Bran. Arya, Jon, Bran…_

_Theon…_

But in the dim torchlight, the grateful eyes of her surviving people rooted her to the ground, at least until every last one of them was as safe as she can guarantee.

"Those are the last of the survivors, my lady," said Tyrion, nodding at the group of women accompanied by Varys and Missandei. He gave the crypts one final sweeping glance, as if to render it in his memory, before looking up at her. "Save for us."

Something must have flashed upon her face, for Tyrion reached up and held one of her gloved hands in his, as he had done only an hour ago. She looked into his eyes with gratitude. They steadied each other up the dreadful hallway until they emerged from the place of horror.

As her eyes adjusted to the night above ground, a blur of dark brown rushed at her and Sansa felt her sister's arms wrap around her middle. She rested a cheek on Arya's forehead, slick with sweat, blood, and grime, but she did not mind. She watched as Jon and Tyrion shook hands.

"Bran?" Sansa asked. She released a choking sob when she felt Arya nod her head. Her lithe body convulsed with a small tremor in her arms, so she held her younger sister tighter.

A moment after, they switched partners like a macabre dance among all the destruction, and Sansa hugged Jon too. Tyrion slipped away after nodding his head at her and her reunited family. Sansa would ask about the details of their victory later, but for now, another name lingered at the tip of her tongue.

"Theon?" she found herself asking, releasing Jon to regard them both.

Arya and Jon traded a look, and it was Arya who drew the shorter straw. "He's hurt, but he's alive." There was mercy in her withholding the 'barely' from the end of her sentence.

Sansa felt tears spring to her eyes, but she was nothing if not well-trained in keeping them from falling. She could not name what compelled her toward the Goodswood where she knew he would still be. Her ridiculous heart sang with hope as she passed familiar faces, the surviving members of their army of the living. She saw Jaime Lannister, his golden hand several shades dimmer under the taint of blood, found his brother, who already had a celebratory drink in his hand. Brienne and Podrick wordlessly cleaned their weapons next to them. She moved past little Sam enfolded between his parents. And the wildling Tormund Giantsbane, whom Sansa had never seen so looking so solemn, sat in silence by a fire, his sword limp at his side. Somewhere in the darkness, she heard unfamiliar chirps and clicks that were unmistakably dragon.

She surged forward until she stood at the edge of the Godswood. Her eyes took in the remnants of the battle––bodies of the Ironborn and white walkers alike strewn in a broken circumference around the weirwood heart tree, where Bran was sat under.

Her gaze fell on Theon last, the Maester already tending to the wound at the sorry end of the spear. A part of her held back, delaying the tidings if they were indeed of permanent doom. She only wished for him to survive long enough to give him her thanks; the greedy part of her wished he would live so she might give words to other things that remained unspoken.

Her knees gave way and she dropped to the snow next to the Maester, as she heard Arya and Jon's footsteps stop just a few feet behind the pair of them. The Maester spoke to her then, but she could hardly hear his words above the sound of her heart thumping in her ears. He mentioned something about going to prepare an infirmary for Lord Greyjoy. Sansa felt herself nod.

She cast her eyes down at him, a watery sheen covering her world.

Yesterday, when she saw him again for the first time in nearly two years, he looked unrecognisable from the wretched boy who risked his life to liberate her from Ramsey Bolton. He looked the very image of a knight he once boasted of becoming when he was a youth, standing tall and strapping in his armour. _If you'll have me_, he had said, pledging his life to her once again in earnest. Words failed her then at such a vow. Sansa didn't care who saw her embrace Theon Greyjoy with such familiarity, for she had only ever known few men whom she would consider gentle, and Theon would be at the top of that list.

But _oh_ to gather him into her arms once more. Feeling helpless as a child, she took one of Theon's hands––fearing she might cause more harm if she did anything more––and let the tears she kept at bay quietly fall like an early winter snow.

Bran approached, snow crunching beneath his chair's wheels. His face looked serene, but not unaffected by the night's events. It was softer than she had seen in recent memory, a glimmer of the boy he once was. Perhaps the defeat of the Night King lifted something in him as well. She wanted to launch herself and wrap her arms around him, but could not seem to relinquish her grasp of Theon then.

Bran was the first to break the silence. "He fought bravely and strongly––every bit of him a worthy, high lord."

Behind her, Jon and Arya exchanged glances, for their brother's words held no meaning to them. But Sansa could still hear their father's promise to her a long lifetime ago, to have her matched with someone she had grown to believe did not exist.

She held Theon's hand until they were ready to move him to his chamber.


End file.
